


Webbydings

by soulfulsin



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Yet another AU, screwing around with ideas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29952777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulfulsin/pseuds/soulfulsin
Summary: In an alternate universe, in which FOWL abducted Webby and then abandoned her to live on Duckburg's streets, Webby tries to make a name for herself as a superhero. Can she maintain her vigilante status and stay aloof from the McDuck family? Or will she end up succumbing to fate and returning to McDuck Manor?
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic has four chapters, so I guess it's going somewhere, albeit slowly. 
> 
> You'll probably recognize this from my one-shots.

_"Oh, that's me as a superhero."_

Webbigail Vanderquack skulked along Duckburg's streets. At age twelve, she knew what she was doing, and she knew how to get what she needed. She mostly lived in the shadows and tried not to draw attention to herself. If Gizmoduck was a well-known vigilante, she was a mysterious one. The media had dubbed her "The Phantom Streak," and no one had any idea that she was just a kid. That was how Webby liked it. After her grandmother had died, after FOWL had dumped her back into the streets until she "earned" a place in FOWL, Webby had decided to take her training in a different direction.

She crept along the streets now, fifteen minutes to midnight, keeping an eye out for anyone suspicious. She didn't kill unless she had to. As always, she felt McDuck Manor's shadow looming over her. She'd vowed never to return there. FOWL had made it off-limits to her, and although she no longer considered herself under FOWL's auspices, she didn't want entanglements. She operated best on her own.

It was far too late for children to be wandering the streets, so when she heard three boys speaking, her interest was piqued. She then froze, ducking behind a corner to conceal herself. Huey, Dewey, and Louie Duck. Of course, she knew who they were. Everyone knew who they were. A long time ago, she'd studied them and their family tree. Her heart ached, but she reminded herself that the past was dead. No amount of pining would bring it back.

So intent was she avoiding their notice that she almost missed the Beagle Boys creeping up upon them.

"It's the Duck brats!" one of them announced, thus ruining the element of surprise. Then again, the Beagle Boys weren't all that bright.

Webby waited to see whether they were going to do anything beyond announcing themselves. They were always after Scrooge McDuck's Money Bin, but their stupidity usually did them in before anyone had to intervene. They didn't carry knives, though they were known to carry guns on occasion. This, it seemed, was one of those occasions.

"Hey, uh, we don't want any trouble," one of the boys said, the one with the blue shirt. Webby knew their names, but not who was whom.

"Think Scrooge'll come running if we punish the brats?" another Beagle Boy replied. Webby assessed her surroundings.

"That's a very impressive-looking gun," the green attired boy said. "A little dangerous to be pointing it at kids, though, isn't it?"

In response, the Beagle Boy brought the gun to bear at his chest, and the hoodie boy gulped. Webby grabbed rocks and threw them in quick succession. One fit into the gun's narrow barrel, a larger one distracted the one holding the gun, and the second Beagle Boy received a wooden plank between the eyes. By the time the first one had time to investigate his gun, Webby had slammed a trash can lid down on his head and knocked him out. Where there were two Beagle Boys, unfortunately, they were usually more. They'd need to be on guard.

"The cape, the way you snuck up on the Beagle Boys...you must be the Phantom Streak," the red boy said.

While she appreciated the adulation in his voice, it wasn't useful right now. She swept in front of them with her arms out and scanned their surroundings. There didn't appear to be any other Beagle Boys around. Usually, that wouldn't mean anything, but the Beagle Boys were not known for their subterfuge. Her shoulders relaxed.

"What are you three doing out so late?" she reprimanded.

"Would you believe we were hoping to run into you?" the red boy said. "Oh, by the way, I'm Huey. That's Dewey and Louie."

"You know, I could see a lucrative marketing campaign with you," Louie remarked. "Costumes, t-shirts, the works."

Webby frowned. "You shouldn't be walking the streets this late at night. It's dangerous."

"You're out," Dewey replied.

"I live on the streets," Webby said.

"Wait, like, literally?" Dewey replied.

Webby shrugged. "I squat in a model house. It's not that bad."

"'Not that bad'?" Louie repeated. "We lived on a houseboat, and that's gotta be better than that."

She shrugged again, not willing to talk about it. She hadn't lived in an actual house since McDuck Manor before her grandmother had died. FOWL might not notice if she returned, but she didn't want to take the chance. Besides this, she felt freer alone. Well, maybe that wasn't strictly true, but she'd gotten used to being by herself.

"How many kids live on the streets?" Louie asked.

"Not that many," Webby admitted. The Duckburg Police Department tried to root them out and put them in an orphanage or in the system, but Webby kept eluding their grasp. Technically, if FOWL hadn't obliterated the paperwork and legality of it, she was Scrooge McDuck's ward. She didn't know if that still held true, and she was afraid to find out.

"Come on, I'll take you home," she said.

"Maybe you should come home with us," Dewey said.

She shook her head. "I know these streets better than you do. I'll be fine."

"At least for the night?" Dewey asked.

"You know, we've given you our names, but you haven't given us yours," Louie said.

She scowled. A name would be a good way for them to track her down, and she wasn't about to reveal her true one. It was like dealing with faeries-give a person your name, and you give them power over you. She didn't intend to do that.

"Oh, my name isn't important," she said.

Louie frowned, studying her, and she stared right back.

"It's getting late like I said," she said. "Do you want me to escort you back? Or are you guys going to be okay getting back on your own?"

"Maybe you should come with us," Dewey suggested again. "You don't really want to live in a model house, do you?"

"I'm fine," she repeated, feeling like the boys were getting under her skin. They shouldn't be. She didn't interact with kids her age usually, and that might've been it. They couldn't have been a year or two off from her, and they seemed well-adjusted and happy, aside from the Beagle Boy scare.

Come to think of it, since when did the Beagle Boys carry guns? That sounded like a mystery she needed to get to the bottom of. She'd have to add it to her conspiracy board when she got home.

"I dunno," Dewey said. "It doesn't seem right that you're living on the streets."

Yes, they were getting under her skin. She set off for McDuck Manor and decided that that would put an end to the discussion, at least temporarily. She set a grueling pace because she didn't want to answer any questions. Nonetheless, the boys caught up with her, and she was reluctantly impressed.

"How do you pay for your food? Your clothes?" Huey asked.

She glanced at him and shook her head. He wasn't going to like the answer, and she didn't know why he'd bothered to ask. Upright citizens like the Duck boys didn't understand the necessity of thieving and keeping a low profile. Something in that stung, and she averted her gaze.

Perhaps she should have returned to McDuck Manor after FOWL ditched her. Maybe her excuses for not returning were flimsy, but she didn't see herself in the manor. She felt alienated and doubted anyone would understand her. Or want to understand her. Before her grandmother had died, she'd kept Webby in the manor, and Webby had befriended a spider. It was odd, but she almost missed that spider now.

"You're not very talkative," Huey observed.

They were approaching McDuck Manor, which saved her the necessity of answering. Standing outside the gates were three people, one of whom was instantly recognizable. Scrooge McDuck was waiting, along with a woman with a metal leg, and…

Webby stopped dead in her tracks.

"What's the matter?" Dewey asked.

"No…" she breathed. FOWL had told her that her grandmother was dead and she had no family left. A woman named Pepper had wanted to take Webby on, but the FOWL higher-ups had thwarted that. Webby couldn't be partnered with anyone until she'd earned it.

As soon as the large, muscular woman saw her, Webby bolted. She should never have gotten this close to McDuck Manor, and there was no way that her granny was still alive. Even if she was, she didn't know how to sort out her feelings about her. Her stomach twisted.

"I'll get her," the younger woman promised, and Webby put on another burst of speed. She didn't know the area around McDuck Manor as well as she knew the rest of Duckburg. Also, this was open ground, which meant that she had nowhere to hide. The young woman might have a metal leg, but she'd compensated for it.

"Hey!" the woman shouted. "We just want to talk! Who are you?"

Webby hurtled downhill at a breakneck pace. The only good thing about this was that she was dressed in black, and once she reached cover, she ought to be able to blend into the night. The problem was that this was a mountain and the only cover was much further down. Plus, it wasn't well lit at night, and if she threw herself down into what she thought were bushes, she might miss and hurt herself.

She should never have come. It repeated in her head like a condemnation. She never should've even considered it.

As soon as she saw shrubbery on her level, she threw herself into it. It scratched and tore at her cape, as well as yanked feathers out. Her heart pounded. She couldn't be here. She shouldn't be here.

Another nasty surprise awaited her when she discovered that the adults had flashlights. Webby curled into a tight ball and hoped they'd miss her. While they were looking elsewhere, she shimmied up a tree and into the highest branches. People seldom looked up, and she clung to the topmost branch. It'd be a long way down.

"Come on out," the young woman called. "We just want to talk. We're not going to hurt you."

"Webby?" the woman who might or might not be her grandmother called. She sounded uncertain, and Webby's heart pounded in her chest. She hadn't been called that aloud in years. True, Webby thought of herself by her nickname, but it was one thing to hear it in your head and another for someone else to speak it.

"'Webby'?" the younger woman repeated. "You know her?"

They shone the flashlight below her on the tree, and Webby caught her breath. She held very still, relieved when the flashlight missed her entirely. The adults moved on, and she discovered she was shaking. It sounded like her grandmother. She bit her tongue to keep from calling out after her. She had everything she needed, and she didn't want to give up what she had for the chance at living imprisoned in McDuck Manor again.

She didn't hear the response because her heart roared in her ears. When finally the light faded, she allowed herself to relax. She didn't release the tree, however. The adults might be back. This was looking to be a miserable night.

Somehow, she'd fallen asleep in the tree. When she woke up, the sun was out, the birds were singing, and her arms ached. Daylight was dangerous, worse than the nighttime. Something knocked on her tree, and she yelped, very nearly falling out. The only reason she hadn't was that her arms were locked around the tree, and she couldn't move them.

"Did you spend all night up there?" a voice called, and Webby looked down. Dewey Duck was standing under her tree.

She groaned. This was embarrassing; she wasn't sure that she could get down without help.

"Who else knows I'm here?" Webby called back, wishing she could see further on the ground. It appeared Dewey was alone, thankfully.

"Just me," Dewey said. "Wouldn't you be more comfortable in the mansion?"

She sighed. "Can you help me down?"

Dewey scrambled onto the branches, not with her dexterity, but at least not so alarmingly bad that she feared he might fall before he reached her. He stood on the branch beneath her, and, with an effort, she tried to unhook her arms from the tree trunk. She yanked them apart, and it _hurt_ , as her muscles had frozen in that position. Unfortunately, she couldn't keep her balance and release the tree; Dewey caught her before she crashed to the ground.

"Thanks," she said, sheepish. "I'm normally not that bad."

But she also didn't normally spend her night hiding in trees.

With his assistance, she made it back down to the ground. She didn't feel like climbing any more trees, not for a while. Dewey grinned at her, and she smiled weakly back.

Then, seeing as no one else was around but him, she scampered. Her legs had frozen into position too and she stumbled, groaning.

"Hey, you're still here," Louie said, approaching and drinking a can of Pep.

"She was up a tree all night," Dewey explained.

"Like a cat?" Louie replied.

"Kinda," Dewey answered. Webby tried to push herself to her feet, but her arms were like noodles. Dewey helped her up again and she took a few more tentative steps forward until she got her feet back under her. Once she was sure she could walk, she took off, determined to stay away from McDuck Manor even if it killed her.

That had been too close for comfort.

"Wait!" Dewey cried just as Webby had rounded the corner. "Webby!"

Webby turned slowly, disconcerted.

"That's what Mrs. B said your name was," Dewey explained, approaching her. She cursed her instinct to stop and waited for him.

"Why didn't you tell us you're Mrs. B's granddaughter?" Louie asked.

"Because...because she's not supposed to be alive," Webby said, shoulders sinking.

"According to her, neither are you," Louie said.

Webby smiled humorlessly. "I guess that makes two of us, then."

The adults had spent the night trying to find Webby. Mrs. Beakley hadn't slept and she and Della were imbibing copious amounts of coffee. The boys had already eaten breakfast and Huey was in his room brushing up for a Junior Woodchuck event. Della could see the toll the encounter was taking on Mrs. Beakley-the woman, whom she could've sworn had nerves of steel, was shaking.

"She must be somewhere on the grounds," Mrs. Beakley announced.

"Aye, but that's a lot of ground to cover," Scrooge reminded her from his newspaper.

"I'm not giving up," Mrs. Beakley said.

"I dinnae say that you should," he said mildly.

"If she's not dead," Della said, drinking her coffee and relishing the fact, as usual, that it wasn't black licorice, "then where has she been the last five years? And why did she run when she heard her name?"

"All very good questions," Scrooge said. He paused. "Where are Dewey and Louie?"

"You don't think they found her, do you?" Mrs. Beakley said, wincing at the eagerness in her tone.

"Anything's possible," Della said.

The question wasn't whether it was possible, but whether it was likely. Della hoped for Mrs. B's sake that it was. She could use a break. After dealing with FOWL and breaking it up, they all could use a break.


	2. Chapter 2

If the DPD hadn't been out in force to look for homeless kids then, they certainly were now. Webby shouldn't have let it slip that she'd been staying in a model house-the police were crawling all over the empty houses. She'd been forced underground, literally. Unable to grab her stuff, she'd hoofed it over to the abandoned subway station and huddled in a crashed car.

She could use a shower, but that wasn't on the horizon. At least in the model house, the shower and electricity had worked, probably because someone had forgotten to shut it off. Down here, it stank; it was cold and miserable. Webby thought longingly of the warm, clean air in McDuck Manor and then remembered being stuck in a tree all night like a cat.

She didn't carry a cell phone because it was too easy to track someone. She had no way of knowing whether it was day or night down here, which was depressing. Worse, she was second-guessing herself. Had she done the right thing by leaving McDuck Manor when she had? Should she have stayed? No, that was ridiculous. She would not be a prisoner again. But still...her grandmother was supposed to be dead.

Webby sighed. It was filthy in this car and delinquents had left graffiti everywhere. Occasionally, something rattled overhead, like rocks rolling over metal, and she gritted her teeth. This would not do as a permanent hide-out. Plus, she wasn't sure she'd be able to patrol tonight. She didn't regret having saved the Duck boys, but she regretted walking them to McDuck Manor. All things considered, she ought to have left them before she reached the drive.

There were other homeless kids down here, she knew that. She didn't mesh with them, however, because they didn't walk the straight and narrow the way she did. They were into having a good time no matter what the cost. While she wasn't too young to join them, she didn't want to. She just wanted to be left alone to patrol the city and save people. It made her a "goody-two-shoes" and hadn't won her many friends, but Webby wasn't looking for friends.

Why had the Duck boys been so cheerful with her? They'd left her feeling wrong-footed, even here, hours after she'd left them. She wound her cape about herself and fingered the tears in it. All of her gear, including her sewing equipment, was in the model house. She had no idea how long it'd take for the heat to die down enough to risk fetching her stuff. Scrooge McDuck knew she was out there now.

She groaned, sliding down on the hard plastic seat. Of all the people she could have run astray of, it'd had to be the richest duck in the world. Her grandmother was still at McDuck Manor; if that was Mrs. Beakley. That meant she had resources and she'd be using them to locate her missing granddaughter.

Webby didn't feel like she fit in with her grandmother anymore. She'd been trained differently and anyway, she didn't feel like the sort of person who had guardians or a grandmother. Yes, sometimes she missed it. Sometimes she wished she had someone who could look out for her and comfort her when she got hurt. But she told herself that she was better off on her own. Whether she believed it was another story, but she had no one to argue with her about it.

She was lucky. Last night, she'd only gotten a few scratches and bruises and nothing major. Her arms and legs still ached, but that would pass in time. She stared around herself and then cursed.

In her mad dash to escape the DPD, she'd forgotten to bring food down here. She'd have to venture up to the surface and steal something. Maybe if she kept her head down and avoided notice, she could get in and out without a hassle. Assuming Gizmoduck wasn't out there looking for her. If he was, that would complicate things.

Folding her cape up, she told it that she'd be back for it and headed back up into the daylight. The light was blinding after being underground and she hissed, holding a hand up to shield her eyes. When her vision had adjusted, she ducked behind a corner. There were police officers everywhere. Scrooge must've sent the entire force out.

She looked for a fire escape ladder to scale to the roof. People never looked up.

Then she faltered. Police officers might not look up, but Gizmoduck would be patrolling the skies. She didn't know which was worse, being apprehended by Gizmoduck or getting nabbed by a cop. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon.

That was one thing that living in McDuck Manor probably wouldn't have had. Missing meals. She was small for her age, perhaps even more so than usual due to malnutrition. It was hard to get the essentials when you were trying to avoid the cameras and the police. Now, with Gizmoduck patrolling, things were tighter than ever.

Duckburg was not a good place to live if you wanted to be off the grid as a kid. On the other hand, St. Canard had possibilities. But she'd need food before she tried crossing the bridge. Plus, leaving the city would mean evading all the law enforcement officers. She groaned. This was going to be difficult.

Not impossible, though. Webby didn't think anything was impossible.

She scaled a fire escape up onto a roof to get a lay of the land. How did Duckburg have so many damn officers? It didn't seem possible. What happened to all the other crimes in the city? Had Scrooge pulled all of the officers off their normal tasks?

She ducked behind a vent when she heard chopper blades approach. She looked up and her stomach roiled. Gizmoduck. She uttered a curse that rhymed with his name. If he looked down, he'd see her. She considered through herself down the air vent, but it didn't look large enough to support her. She'd get stuck and then she'd be worse off.

Praying mentally that he didn't look down, or at least looked down in another direction, she rubbed her arms. It was cold up on the roof. Winter had come early to Calisota. Normally, she'd be wearing her heavy winter gear, but that was also in the model house.

Gizmoduck had a scanner, she saw as it swept over the area. If that had been her grandmother, then she'd have one of Webby's old possessions. That would have her DNA on it. That meant that this whole excursion was an exercise in futility unless she went somewhere that the scanners didn't work. Or if she disabled the scanners, which would require her to get close enough to Gizmoduck to reveal herself.

Well, Gizmoduck had to sleep sometime. She climbed down the fire escape and returned to her subterranean lair. Hunger wasn't anything new to her. She'd sleep it off. Maybe once she'd woken up, the officers would've resumed their regular duties and she could nab her stuff back.

Her heart hammered between her ribs. She assumed that the scanners wouldn't work underground. That might be incorrect. The city had become a trap. She leaned her head back against the seat and groaned. In response, her stomach grumbled and ached.

She needed her food and she needed her belongings, in that order. Her hands shook. She could wait it out. After all, she'd caught criminals red-handed before. She had a great deal of patience.

The solution was to sleep and pass the time that way, but after the night up the tree, she wasn't tired enough. She had nothing to occupy herself, either. The only solution to avoid capture was to get deeper underground and she didn't know how far these tunnels ran. Plus, if she didn't conserve energy now, she risked weakening and hurting herself further on.

She didn't even have a book on her and it was asking too much to hope someone might have left one down here. Plus, the lights weren't on, so even if she wanted to read and could find a book, she wouldn't be able to.

Scowling, she curled into a ball and hugged her knees. Rather than falling asleep, she replayed moments from her life in her head and imagined them going differently. It was an old game that she'd devised when she was younger. Sometimes, it amused her. It usually took the edge off her hunger.

With her eyes closed, she settled into her semi-relaxed, semi-aware state. She could respond quickly to threats if she had to. Bundling the cape around her, she kept her ears open for anyone nearby. Then she allowed herself to fall into a meditative state.

When she awoke, she had a crick in her neck and she shook her head to clear it. Her stomach grumbled, impatient and annoyed with her for skipping a couple of meals. That was nothing new. What _was_ new was when she ascended to the surface to discover the patrols still heavy over Duckburg. She'd have to risk it. She'd already gone a day without eating.

Under the cover of darkness, it was easier to flit around unseen. The only real difficulty was Gizmoduck, who might be anywhere and who had flashlights, if not floodlights, attached to his suit. While she was glad that the superhero helped clean up the streets and made things easier for her, he wasn't doing that now. Now he was a thorn in her side and she almost understood why the villains rued him.

She crept from the corner of one building to another. Since she normally thrived in the darkness, she was used to concealing herself, but this was another level of difficulty. Unfortunately, she had no idea how wide Scrooge McDuck's circle of influence ran. She also didn't know what time it was, only that it was late afternoon if not early night. The darkness didn't seem full enough to be late at night.

She snuck into a supermarket and kept her eyes peeled for any security cameras. Since she didn't frequent this store, she didn't have a mental map of where they were. Accompanying the Duck boys to McDuck Manor had thrown her off her game. She kept her hood over her head to disguise her features, but a child walking around by herself after dark was already suspicious. She just hoped that they weren't vigilant everywhere.

Since she had no money and no bag to store her goods, she had to grab a sandwich and hope that'd be enough. Thus far, she'd not made eye contact with anyone working in the store and had kept a low profile.

While she was an old hand at stealing from stores, she felt the tension keenly. She pivoted into another aisle to avoid being spotted by a stock clerk and then walked steadily toward the exit. She didn't cast furtive glances around, speed up her pace, or give any indication that she was nervous. Only once she was outside again and well clear of the supermarket did she breathe freely and then she realized it was time to tackle something far more difficult.

She needed her gear. Hiding in the old abandoned subway system was good and all, but she needed her stuff too. Otherwise, she'd have to steal new stuff, which put her at further risk. Plus, she had a few things that were irreplaceable. Best not to leave that to chance.

After scarfing down the sandwich, she made her way carefully toward the model houses. Flintheart Glomgold had set up a low-income complex, but the funding had fallen through due to the fact the houses were structurally unsound. It was the biggest model house development in town and, she saw to her horror, it was positively crawling with cops. She cursed under her breath.

A light overhead caught her gaze and she glanced up to see Gizmoduck patrolling the skies. Gritting her teeth, she ducked under a bush. She would not return to McDuck Manor and be a virtual prisoner again. It had nothing to do with FOWL and what they had taught her. Webby's mood soured thinking about FOWL, mostly about Pepper. Pepper had been the only person who had cared about Webby and Webby missed her.

If FOWL had let them, maybe Pepper could've been a mother figure to Webby. However, FOWL saw that as a weakness and also a distraction that Pepper didn't need. Webby sighed. Speaking of distractions, she was distracting herself.

It was like a video game on extreme difficulty. Or, at least, what she imagined a video game would be like, as she'd never played one. Her heart pounded. Since the cops didn't know which house she'd been squatting in, they'd assembled en masse near all of them. The thickest concentration appeared to be toward the middle, where she had secreted away her stuff.

Gizmoduck landed not five feet away from her and she saw, to her alarm, that he was storing her spare clothes into his suit. They'd found her hideaway. Webby balled her fists and then practiced the calming exercises that Mrs. Beakley had taught her. Her grandmother, the one FOWL had lied to her and said was dead.

Pepper might be a possible surrogate parent, but Mrs. Beakley was actually related to her. By that token alone, she ought to go back. Then again, Mrs. Beakley had kept her isolated in McDuck Manor until FOWL swooped in and kidnapped Webby. Webby hadn't lasted long in FOWL, not after they'd separated her from Pepper, and she'd spent the intervening years making her way back to Duckburg. Then, she'd been on Duckburg's streets.

Her throat was tight. There was no point in sneaking away to her hideout because her stuff was gone. They'd stolen it. Well, she'd pinched it, to begin with, but that didn't make it fair. To make matters worse, she was stuck. If she moved, Gizmoduck would know she was there. Hell, he might already know.

Gizmoduck's flashlight swept through the bush and she crossed her fingers that he wouldn't distinguish her from the bush. Unfortunately, while black didn't stand out against a black setting, the flashlight starkly illuminated her.

"Webby?" Gizmoduck said and Webby tried to extract herself from the bush. She couldn't; it'd caught on her cape. She really needed to stop wearing it, but it completed her superhero ensemble. There'd been a movie about superheroes and the costume designer had flat-out refused to add capes. She was starting to see why.

"It's all right," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She hissed, feeling like a wild cat. Gizmoduck sheared either side of the bush and she didn't run, even if she wanted to. There was no point. Before she got too far, the cops or Gizmoduck, if not both, would be on her. Her arms were bleeding and her cape had torn. She sighed.

"Why were you hiding?" he asked.

Maybe if she didn't give him anything to work with, he wouldn't be able to harangue her. Gizmoduck produced an antiseptic spray and cleaned her wounds. She chanced a look upward at him and he had an earnest expression on his face now that he'd raised his visor. It brought her up short. She wasn't used to seeing compassion in adult faces.

"Yeah, sorry, the spray might sting a little," he said. "You know, you're a little young to be a superhero."

Her beak twitched toward a weak smile. "Maybe."

"Come on, let me bring you back to McDuck Manor," he said and reached to scoop her up. She backed away, wishing she had her weapons on her. Chances were either the police or Gizmoduck himself had confiscated them.

"You don't want to go?" he asked, confused. "I saw where you were living before. It has nothing on McDuck Manor."

Since she hadn't exactly been able to steal a bed, she'd been forced to scrounge around for pillows and blankets. Therefore, she'd slept in a heap on the floor. It wasn't the worst place she'd slept in, but it wasn't the best, either. It probably wasn't suitable for a growing child, especially one who was trying to raise herself.

She shook her head.

"Might I ask why?"

How could she explain it in a way that he'd understand? She didn't want to return to a place where she'd be held captive again. At least in FOWL, she'd had agency. Even if they _had_ dumped her back on the streets.

"At least talk to them?" he asked and she frowned, but reluctantly nodded. He produced a cell phone, hit a contact on his screen, and waited for it to ring. He didn't have to wait very long-whoever was on the other end answered immediately.

"Hello?" Mrs. Beakley said and Webby's heart clenched. She was shaking, too, and she swallowed past a lump in her throat.

"I found Webbigail, Mrs. Beakley," Gizmoduck said. "Would you like to speak with her?"

"Webby…" Mrs. Beakley said and her voice was strained. "Why? Why did you run?"

"I can't be imprisoned in the manor anymore, Granny," Webby said, not seeing her surroundings but McDuck Manor's walls closing in on her. "I can't do it."

"I wouldn't-" Mrs. Beakley started and then restarted. "I wouldn't stop you from going out, Webbigail. I just don't want you to live on the streets anymore. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is?"

Webby smiled humorlessly. "I know. I've been living on the streets for the last three years."

She didn't have to see her to know she was balking. "You've been... _three years_?!"

"It's not that bad, once you figure out where to go and how to keep a low profile," she said, shrugging. Gizmoduck also looked flabbergasted. Webby had a strange feeling that she'd said something wrong, though she was at a loss as to what it was.

"That's...how could…"

Yeah, Mrs. Beakley sounded taken aback. Webby's smile lingered, though she remained unamused.

Webby shrugged. "I did what I had to do to survive. It wasn't like I had an instruction manual."

"I'll be right there," Mrs. Beakley said after a pregnant pause. The phone call ended and Webby grimaced. She didn't know that she wanted to be here when her grandmother arrived. However, she didn't see an alternative.

Hugging herself, she waited for the inevitable. Her stomach grumbled-that sandwich hadn't been enough, not to compensate for having missed a day's worth of meals.

"Are you hungry? I can get you something to eat," he offered. She shook her head. Yes, she could send him away, but there were cops everywhere. Moreover, she wanted him to be there when her grandmother arrived. Maybe he could help back her up.

Her stomach knotted. Despite her hunger, she didn't want to eat. She didn't think that she could keep it down.


	3. Chapter 3

Even surrounded by cops and Gizmoduck, Webby contemplated fleeing. It didn't matter. She had nothing to distract them with and Gizmoduck had stolen all of her things. It rankled and she fidgeted, doing her utmost to ignore her stomach growling. One hastily snatched sandwich gobbled down did not compensate for a day without eating. If she sent Gizmoduck away to get food, she was left with the same quandary. She wasn't getting out of here and even if she did, it'd be a temporary reprieve.

Within minutes, her grandmother (if it _was_ her grandmother and not a FOWL construct), the boys, a man in his thirties with red hair, and Scrooge McDuck pulled up in a limo nearby. Her stomach clenched and when a cop walked by with what must've been lunch, the smells made her nauseated. She swallowed back bile and her sandwich, both of which wanted to come back up.

For a moment, they stared at each other, as if they were enemy combatants gazing across the length of a battlefield. Then Mrs. Beakley moved to embrace Webby and Webby jumped out of the way. She assumed an offensive stance, feet firmly planted, and her gaze was wary.

"Webby?" Mrs. Beakley said quizzically.

"You're not my real granny," Webby said. "My real granny died five years ago. You're an imposter."

"Okay, not one hundred percent sure what's going on here," Louis said, "but that _is_ your grandmother."

"That's what they want you to think," Webby retorted.

"Who's 'they'?" Huey asked.

"Exactly," Webby countered.

"Webby, who told you that I was dead?" Mrs. Beakley said. She was clearly struggling to restrain her temper and that made Webby more alert and suspicious, not less. She was trying to hide something. Webby would sleuth it out. She hadn't spent all that time training for nothing.

"Who do you think?" Webby said and then gritted her teeth as her stomach growled loudly.

"When was the last time you ate?" Huey asked.

"I ate today," Webby said, still feeling defensive.

"And before that?" Huey prompted.

"Uh…" Webby knew it must've been some time yesterday or, at least, she thought it'd been. But she couldn't rightfully say when. Her knees buckled and she hissed; her vision grew blurry. Nonetheless, she forced herself upright again. Even if it took all of her strength, she would not show weakness.

Mrs. Beakley gave her a shrewd look. "You don't eat regularly?"

"Don't change the subject," Webby countered. "Who are you and what did you do with my granny?"

"Webby, dear, I _am_ your grandmother," Mrs. Beakley said, sounding exhausted. Webby fell to one knee, unable to maintain the pose, and would've fallen face-first onto the ground if Gizmoduck hadn't grabbed her. She struggled weakly. She could handle herself. She was just tired.

She closed her eyes for a minute to muster her strength and found herself unable to open them again. The world moved so slowly, like molasses. Just one more minute...she'd be okay if she rested her eyes for a little while longer…

* * *

"She passed out," Gizmoduck said. Webby had stopped struggling and up close, he could see how thin she was. "My guess is that she eats whatever she can steal, whenever she can steal it."

"Hmm...a thief…" Louie said contemplatively and Scrooge, Huey, and Dewey shot him warning looks. "What? I'm not saying that it's a good thing."

Even if he _was_ impressed. She'd been living on the streets for three years and stealing everything, including her clothes, for that length of time without getting caught. Sure, she hadn't been able to eat regularly, but the fact that she'd been able to slip around Duckburg for that long was a testament to her skills.

"That sandwich might've been the last thing she'd eaten, but I doubt she ate anything the day before," Gizmoduck observed. "We should bring her back to McDuck Manor."

"What's the deal with her thinking you're dead or an imposter?" Louie asked Mrs. Beakley.

"I don't know," she admitted, looking crestfallen. "Nor do I know how she became so proficient at theft, but I have my suspicions."

"And you're not going to tell them to us, are you?" Louie asked and she glowered. "Okay, right, got it, stop asking."

"Do you think she's okay?" Dewey asked, joining them. He looked at Webby in Gizmoduck's arms. They bundled back into the limo and Gizmoduck gently buckled Webby in. The young duckling didn't wake, although she curled into a tight ball and whimpered.

Huey just shook his head at his younger brother's question. "Malnutrition, for one thing. For another, distrust of authority. For a third, her feathers are bent the wrong way in some places, like she hasn't been taking care of herself.

"She's been running around, taking care of Duckburg, but no one's been taking care of her," Huey concluded.

"That ends now," Mrs. Beakley said. She smoothed Webby's bangs back and the girl whimpered, recoiling from the touch. Her eyes sprang open for a moment; she stared at them and shook her head.

"Oh…" Then she passed out again.

"She didn't want to be trapped in McDuck Manor, remember?" Dewey said. "You're not going to lock her up, are you?"

"I doubt that I could, even if I wanted to," Mrs. Beakley replied, sniffing. "Something tells me she has experience evading security.

"At least Gizmoduck managed to grab her belongings," she said. She glanced down at Webby again and Louie couldn't help but feel that if Webby were conscious, she'd be fighting tooth and nail to get the hell out of this limo. She was too exhausted to do anything but sleep.

The adults speculated about what her life had been like and Louie ran an appraising eye over Webby again. She must have found a way to bathe recently, because she didn't smell, though he wasn't sure if the model house had electricity and water. She gave no hints of her true disposition through her dreams; either that or she was too tired to dream. They'd have to wait a few hours to speak with her and see what she had to say.

But, oh, he did _not_ want to be Mrs. B when she woke up, because Webby was going to be pissed.

* * *

Webby woke up and her stomach ached. She discovered herself in a strange room with a woman who looked vaguely familiar staring back at her. Another woman was sitting a short distance away; the woman with the robotic leg smiled at her. Webby didn't smile back. The realization of what must have happened came crashing down upon her and she scrambled backward, looking for a weapon.

"All right, Imposter Granny, you win this round," Webby snapped. She sought out an escape route, but the attic window was locked. The glass looked sturdy, too, and while she'd gotten enough sleep, she remained famished. She wouldn't have the requisite strength to break the glass.

Plus, she didn't know what would happen if she could. There might be security bots waiting outside to scoop her up. She'd heard about the DT-87 bots.

"Webby…" the older woman said and held out food on a platter. Webby sniffed; it didn't smell poisoned. Perhaps thinking on the same wavelength, she took a piece of toast and ate it. Reluctantly, Webby took food too and felt her stomach gurgle unhappily at its empty state.

"I'm not your enemy," the woman continued. "I swear that I'm not lying."

"Even if I accept that's true," Webby allowed, eyes narrowing, "you kidnapped me."

"Yes, well, we may have gotten off on the wrong foot here," Mrs. Beakley allowed. "However, this _is_ your home, Webbigail."

She hadn't heard her full name in forever. It went through her like a shock. After she'd shaken off the shock, she realized that this woman could've gotten her name from anywhere. It was, after all, on her FOWL file. She'd never attained a level beyond Egghead, which meant that her file was in low security. She clenched her fists.

"McDuck Manor isn't my home," she said and shook her head. "It hasn't been since...before."

"Before what?" the other woman encouraged and, despite herself, Webby wanted to trust her. She had an open, honest face that invited compassion. Webby noticed that she had blue eyes like the triplets, too. She must've been the boys' mother.

"Before FOWL," Webby answered, keeping an eye on Della instead of the faux Mrs. Beakley.

"Why did I have a suspicion that FOWL figured in on this?" Mrs. Beakley said, sighing. "You'd better start at the beginning, dear."

Webby didn't speak for a few minutes. Instead, she grabbed food and started scarfing it down. After all, she didn't know when she'd next get fed. Della put a hand on hers.

"Hey, hey," Della chided. "If you keep eating like that, you'll just throw it all back up. Take it from me. I tried eating too much after I hadn't eaten in forever and my stomach was _not_ happy."

Reluctantly, Webby stopped gorging herself. Della was right. Frowning, she glanced back at Mrs. Beakley. Now that she wasn't eating as if the food would magically evaporate if she didn't eat, she had no reason not to reply. She cursed inwardly.

"There isn't much to tell," Webby lied. "FOWL swooped in, taught me everything I needed to know, and then dumped me on the streets until I 'earned my place.' Kids aren't tolerated well there and they didn't want me to be with the only woman who actually cared about me."

Pepper. Just thinking her name was like a blow to the chest.

"That story is suspiciously lacking in details," Mrs. Beakley observed. "However, I suppose that's the best I can hope for now."

"You've been staying on the streets for three years, I heard," Della said and moved closer to Webby. "That's rough."

Webby shrugged, looking aside. The food still tempted her and her stomach grumbled. She wished this conversation was over. She didn't want to get into anything; she just wanted to return to the streets with her food and fade back into the darkness. This scrutiny was unnerving.

"I'm not going to stop you from leaving the manor," Mrs. Beakley said. "However, I would like to lay down some ground rules."

" _If_ you're my grandmother," Webby said and Mrs. Beakley groaned.

"What on earth makes you think that I'm not?" Mrs. Beakley said. "We need to settle this before this absurdity continues."

"FOWL told me you died. They showed me your body," Webby said, obstinate.

Della and Mrs. Beakley exchanged undecipherable looks and Webby growled, worried that they didn't believe her. "They did!"

"They showed you an illusion, Webby," Mrs. Beakley said, suppressing a sigh. "What do I have to prove to you I'm alive?"

Webby folded her arms across her chest and then, unable to resist, snagged another piece of toast. "Tell me something that only Agent 22 would know about me. And not FOWL."

Mrs. Beakley rolled her eyes as if beseeching the powers that be above to help her. "Right after you hatched, you spent the first few weeks fighting everything that moved. Including me. Especially me."

Webby flushed. She couldn't think of a good way to refute it.

"You would only quiet down if I played music," Mrs. Beakley continued. She started to hum a song that Webby recognized, though she couldn't have said why. She hummed along after a moment and then flushed.

"Okay, maybe you're who you say you are," Webby admitted. "Maybe."

Mrs. Beakley climbed down the ladder rung and then reappeared a moment later with a book filled with baby pictures. Webby, who had never seen her younger self immortalized before, gaped. She was actually adorable, despite what the Eggheads and Buzzards had said. She'd mostly been tossed around in FOWL because no one wanted to take care of her. Except for Pepper.

"What else would it take to convince you?" Mrs. Beakley asked. "I'm afraid that I didn't save bits of your eggshell or anything like that."

"I don't know," Webby admitted. It was hard to argue against the evidence presented here and what FOWL had shown her. She didn't know what to think and the turbulent emotions resurfaced. She glanced uneasily at Della and then back at Mrs. Beakley.

"Perhaps we ought to give you some time to process all of this," Della suggested.

"Could you at least leave the food?" Webby asked.

"I would if I could trust you not to eat without making yourself sick," Mrs. Beakley said and shook her head. "But I'm afraid that I can't, so it comes with us. Meet us in the dining room when you've had some time to think."

Webby scowled but reluctantly agreed. As the two adults left, taking the precious food with them, Webby curled into a ball. She felt full for the first time in a long time. Moreover, she felt safe, which was something she hadn't experienced in so long, it was almost foreign. Mrs. Beakley had left the scrapbook and Webby leafed through it, finding an article about her kidnapping. Startled, Webby read it closely. That was something FOWL wouldn't have had in its archives unless they'd wanted to wear it like a badge of honor.

She didn't want to quit being a superhero, though. That was her identity. Without it, she didn't know who she was or what she was doing.

Would they understand that, though? She wasn't so sure. She suspected not, despite what they'd told her before. They were just humoring her.

Webby sighed, looking around for escape routes. Part of her was reluctant to leave, though. If Mrs. Beakley really was her grandmother, then this was her home, regardless of what FOWL had said. She belonged here.

"Hey!" Dewey said, poking his head up above and into the attic. "Wanna go do something fun?"

Webby perked up. "Like what?"

"I happen to know Darkwing Duck," Dewey said. "Wanna go meet him?"

"Do I!" she exclaimed. She'd known about Darkwing Duck, but she'd never met him before. She thought that he'd lived in St. Canard, though she could've been wrong. It'd give her an opportunity to scope out St. Canard, too. She beamed back at him.

"I'll be right there!" she promised.

His head disappeared from the ladder and Webby waited until he was off before flinging herself down after him. This could be fun. At least she wouldn't have to wallow around here.


	4. Chapter 4

She had ducked into the dining room to tell Agent 22 that she was leaving when she remembered that Mrs. Beakley had told her to discuss things after she’d had time to think. Her trip with Dewey would have to wait. Disappointed in herself, she sat down at the table and winced. Her stomach hurt from overeating, but at least she hadn’t vomited.   
  
Dewey sat beside her and she stared quizzically at him.   
  
“I wanted to see what was going on,” he replied. Mrs. Beakley sighed; Huey and Louie also entered the dining room, which made it five. Scrooge was off somewhere, which was a relief because it meant one less adult to deal with. 

“Have you had any time to think about this?” Mrs. Beakley inquired and Webby scowled. 

“Returning to that model house is out of the picture, isn’t it?” Webby asked sadly. She’d liked the freedom that it had entailed, even if she’d been lonely and hungry a lot of the time. It felt too confining to stay here, especially knowing that the others would keep such a close eye on her. She’d enjoyed being a vigilante. 

“Don’t you want to be with your family?” Dewey asked and Webby’s throat tightened. Even if Mrs. Beakley really was her grandmother, that didn’t mean that she felt any familial connection to her. Webby stared at the table and pressed a hand to her aching stomach.

“You’ve been alone for so long, dear,” Mrs. Beakley said quietly. “I know that you’ve grown used to it, but that doesn’t make it all right.”

Her jaw trembled. She wasn’t being allowed to decide for herself what she wanted, then, because she was a child. She clenched her beak tightly. 

“We’ll make you feel right at home,” Della proposed and smiled at her. It warmed a part of Webby’s heart that she’d thought long buried, but it also reminded her of the pain of losing Pepper. Webby pushed away from the table.

“This isn’t my home,” Webby said, swallowing against a lump in her throat. 

“But it could be,” Huey suggested.

“You don’t really want to live on the streets, do you?” Louie asked, incredulous. 

To be perfectly honest, she didn’t know what she wanted. She felt like she was being forced into a decision that she might not want. 

“Can I have time to think this over some more?” Webby asked. “Outside of McDuck Manor?”

“Webby, dear, it’s not a good idea,” Mrs. Beakley protested.

“You saw the Beagle Boys,” Huey said. “You don’t want to run into that again, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Dewey said. “She was pretty badass about it. She handled them like a pro.”

“The Beagle Boys are carrying guns now?” Della asked. “Wow. Where have I been?”

“All the more reason for you to stay here,” Mrs. Beakley said.

“I can handle it,” Webby said. “I’ve done it before.”

“There are other villains with guns around?” Huey asked and Webby reluctantly nodded. She tried not to think about how nice it’d been to sleep in a bed and not on a hard, cold floor. Moreover, she tried not to think about how warm it was in McDuck Manor and how she felt safe. Safety was an illusion. Her throat constricted. 

Mrs. Beakley tried a different tack. “Webby, you’re skin and bones.”

“And feathers,” Dewey added and Mrs. Beakley looked pained.

“And feathers,” she repeated. 

This, unfortunately, Webby had no ready response for. It was true that she was smaller and skinnier than she ought to be for her age. The other kids, the few times that she’d encountered them, had used it as an opportunity to pick on her. While she could hold her own, when they outnumbered her, things got a bit iffy.

“You don’t want to give up your independence,” Della said softly and Webby looked up at the young woman. “I understand that. But you can still be independent and live here. It just means that you have someone to watch your back. That has to sound more appealing than fighting alone.”

It did. It also sounded appealing not to have to worry about where her next meal was coming from.

“Maybe I can stay here some of the time?” Webby suggested with a faint hope they might agree.

Mrs. Beakley shook her head. “I don’t want you staying out on the streets. It’s not safe.”

Yeah, it was probably best not to tell her about the time she’d nearly gotten shot. Or the multiple knife fights she’d been in.

“Am I being offered a choice or are you telling me what’s going to happen?” Webby asked, frowning.

“She could work with Darkwing Duck, if she wanted to continue being a vigilante,” Della suggested and Mrs. Beakley scowled. 

No, if they took that away from her, then she’d leave and hide out in St. Canard indefinitely. As much as she liked the boys, she barely knew them. She wasn’t convinced that Mrs. Beakley wasn’t an imposter and while Della seemed pleasant, she didn’t know her either. Webby only felt alive and useful when she was fighting crime. After all, she was good at it.

Also, she wasn’t sure if she was good at anything else.

“That madman?” Mrs. Beakley said derisively. 

“Hey, he’s not crazy,” Dewey said loyally. “He’s just a little eccentric because he got to take on his superhero’s mantle. But he’s just as sane as I am. And Launchpad.”

“That’s debatable,” Mrs. Beakley said.

Webby felt like they were just running roughshod over her. They weren’t listening and they’d already made up their minds. She pushed away from the table. 

“Where are you going?” Della asked.

“I’m not staying,” Webby said. “I’m not giving up everything for a chance to be stuck in this house all the time.”

  
“It wouldn’t be all the time,” Dewey argued. “We go on adventures a lot.”

Adventures? No, wait, stay focused.

She frowned at them. Were they going to pretend that they were giving her a choice? She wouldn’t tolerate that. They’d be sadly mistaken if they thought this manor was going to hold her for long.

“You know…” Huey said, perhaps sensing from Webby’s stiff body language that she was about to bolt, “we should probably try to find out why the Beagle Boys have guns.”

“They’re not the only ones,” Webby said, relieved to be back on a topic she knew something about. “A lot of villains around here have been carrying weapons, particularly ones who didn’t have them before. I don’t know who’s outfitting them, but it’s not FOWL. FOWL has specific members and these are the bottom of the barrel villains.”

She frowned, thoughtful. “There are also more kids on the streets than there were before, even with the DPD trying to round them up.”

“I assume these children wouldn’t speak to anyone but other children,” Mrs. Beakley said, groaning. “Am I right?”

“They barely speak to me,” Webby admitted. She was something of a pariah with the local kids. “They don’t like that I’m a superhero.”

“Let me guess--they’re not exactly on the straight and narrow,” Louie said.

“No, they’re not,” she agreed. Webby’s refusal to play long in their petty games and do drugs had labeled her as “other” even before she’d taken on this mantle.

“Do they even talk to you?” Dewey asked.

“They will,” Webby said. But often begrudgingly. She wasn’t sure what they’d make of the Duck triplets. They’d probably see them as potential suckers. Louie might be able to handle himself around con men, but Dewey and Huey would be too gullible.

“The kids aren’t walking around carrying heat, are they?” Della asked, frowning.

Webby winced. They were. 

“Where are they getting all of this stuff?” Della asked no one in particular.

“I don’t know,” Webby admitted. “I haven’t had time to investigate it between trying to find food and then this.”

This giant mess in which she found herself. She shouldn’t have followed the triplets home that first night. If she hadn’t done that, then she wouldn’t be here. She still didn’t know what impulse had driven her to join them. Maybe it was because they were the first kids around her age that weren’t absolute terrors to her. 

“I don’t like the idea of you running around without a guardian,” Mrs. Beakley said. 

Webby folded her arms across her chest. “I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself.”

“The bent and broken feathers and your malnutrition say otherwise,” Huey said and she glowered at him. Whose side was he on, anyway?

“I’ve taken care of myself well enough,” Webby countered. 

“You are a child,” Mrs. Beakley said. “You should not need to fend for yourself.”

“I know it sounds like she’s trying to make you suffer, but I promise, Webby, that she has your best interests at heart,” Della added. Webby huffed, reluctantly sitting back down but with her arms folded across her chest. 

This was a negotiation. And, like every negotiation, she could leave if she didn’t find the terms agreeable.

Mrs. Beakley grimaced and then sighed. “How about this? If you promise to stay here, I will let you go out at night, but only if you go with Gizmoduck or Darkwing for support.”

“I don’t need them!” Webby objected. Her proverbial hackles rose. “No deal.”

“She’s trying to protect you,” Huey said and Webby glared at him again. Again, he was not helping.

“I don’t need protection,” Webby replied, which was a bald-faced lie and one she hoped no one called her out on.

“Please,” Mrs. Beakley said. “Be sensible. You and I both know that I could lock you in this manor until you turned eighteen. I am trying to make accommodations for you.”

“The kids won’t talk to me if I bring an adult,” Webby reminded her. “And they’ll know if I”ve been hanging around one; they’re usually watching from the shadows.”

“Are the street kids all that creepy?” Dewey asked and Webby smiled.

“There are a few,” she admitted. “A lot of them are on drugs, though, so they don’t notice as much.”

Mrs. Beakley looked like she wanted to bang her head into the wall out of sheer frustration. “One night a week you can go out by yourself, but I want you back by midnight. If you must continue these jaunts, then I want you with someone who can look out for you. Are we clear?”

“Two days a week,” Webby argued.

“Don’t press your luck, dear,” Mrs. Beakley warned in an undertone.

“We both know that if I wanted to, I could leave and hide somewhere. And you’d never find me again,” Webby rejoined. She felt tired and her limbs had turned leaden. She didn’t want to keep arguing with her, even if she was her real grandmother.

Mrs. Beakley’s expression grew pained. “You wouldn’t.”

“What’s so bad about living in a mansion?” Dewey asked. 

“I don’t--” Webby stopped and started again. “You don’t understand.”

“You’re right,” Louie agreed. “We don’t.”

“I don’t want to lose my freedom,” Webby answered and unfolded her arms. She sighed. Adults were the enemy. It was hard to break that thought process, although she knew she hadn’t always thought that way. 

“Which is more important to you?” Della asked. “Your freedom or being safe?”

Webby looked down at the table and mumbled, “Safe.”

“Why don’t we try this for a bit and see how it works out? Then we can change it as the situation develops,” Mrs. Beakley said. “Two days a week by yourself. No more. And you have a midnight curfew.”

That wasn’t nearly late enough, but she supposed she’d make do. She could always run away to St. Canard if she had to.

Webby nodded.

“Since I was planning on going to St. Canard anyway to meet Darkwing, why don’t I bring Webby along?” Dewey asked and 

Mrs. Beakley looked pained, but reluctantly nodded. “I suppose.”

“Come on,” Dewey said. “It’ll be fun. How often do you get to meet a real life superhero?”

Webby gave him a look. What was she, then? 

“Right,” he said, wincing. “Let’s go, then.”

She wasn’t sure that she’d like this turn of events, but she might as well go with it for now. As she followed Dewey out the door, her mind drifted to whether the kids knew anything about the recent influx of weapons. Despite what she’d said, she wasn’t sure they’d talk to her anyway. 

The last time she’d tried to talk to them and interrogate one of them, they’d nearly poked her eye out. The street kids were _not_ friendly. She shuddered.

“You okay?” Dewey asked. They were heading for the garage, where Launchpad was tinkering with Scrooge’s limo.

“Yeah,” Webby said, but she was lying. Part of her wanted to run away and hide until it all blew over. The other part, the well fed part, thought she ought to consider her options carefully. Until she sorted herself out, she was going to be a jumble of contradictions.

* * *

Doofus Drake had heard what was going on with the so-called vigilante. It served her right for poking her beak where it didn’t belong. He was the nominal leader for the street kids, although not all of them obeyed him. Some, like Lena, scorned him and had put him in his place multiple times. To be honest, Lena scared him. He went out of his way to avoid her.

If the Phantom Streak came here looking for information, she’d be sorry. And if she’d turned traitor and joined with the adults, she’d be even sorrier. He couldn’t be held responsible for what happened then. He hoped that she knew that she’d brought it on herself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that I didn't want an OC to be the head of the street kids. Doofus seems ruthless enough and, I figured that disinherited, he'd be pretty pissed about everything. 
> 
> I also couldn't have a street kid gang without Lena. Lena hasn't met Webby yet in this AU.


End file.
